


Finding Brian Kinney's Gag Reflex

by Frayach



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Orgasm Control, PWP, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 18:37:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frayach/pseuds/Frayach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title and the tags say it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Brian Kinney's Gag Reflex

**Author's Note:**

> I think I've found my kinky QaF muse. This is the prequel to [Finding Brian Kinney's Prostate](http://archiveofourown.org/works/698018) because I'm pretty sure Brian gave Justin a gag-reflex-triggering blow job long before he let Justin put a finger in his ass.

“I told you. I don’t have one.”

“Everyone has one.”

“Really? How many people have you asked?”

I’m stumped. Of course I’ve never asked anyone about their gag reflex, not even Daphne. All I have to go on is my own. True, it’s hard to trigger, but it does exist. Once I’d had too much to drink at a party. I was stumbling around, and every time I lay down, the room started spinning. Mom was supposed to pick me up at eleven, but I couldn’t speak without slurring. _Stick your finger down your throat_ , some random guy had told me. It took forever, and by the time I managed to throw up, tears were streaming down my face. True, I felt better afterward, but I wasn’t eager to relive the experience.

“Did you learn to ignore it?”

“Nope. Didn’t have to.”

“Well, I don’t have one either,” I lie.

He rolls onto his side and gives me a knowing smile. “Bullshit,” he said. “I heard you that one time.”

“I hadn’t expected you to do that.”

“A gag is a gag, Sunshine, and you gagged.”

I roll on to my back and cross my arms. I fix him with a sullen expression, which makes his smile turn into a grin.

“Do you want me to prove it?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say, “give it your best shot. Just don’t throw up on me. Oh, and don’t hurt yourself.”

“Your dick isn’t _that_ big . . .”

“I’m not kidding. You don’t have to prove a point.”

He brushes my bangs back and gives me that new look he’s been giving me lately. It’s still mocking, but it’s also indulgent and even a little pleased. I like to pretend it means “I love you,” but I’m probably – no, forget “probably” – I _am_ deluding myself. It doesn’t matter though. I’ve made progress. Last week, he even seemed a teeny-tiny bit upset that I’d applied to out-of-state colleges. He thinks he’s unreadable; he thinks I believed that crap about “well, it’s just the first I’ve heard of it, that’s all,” but that’s bullshit. I can read him like a book, and his expression that morning was clear – _I’m not sure I want you to go_ , it’d said. Like I was saying, the process is slow and the victories small and far apart, but then again, I’m patient – patient and persistent as hell.

I watch as he slowly pulls the sheet off of me as though he’s revealing a sculpture he’d carved at an unveiling ceremony. When I’m naked, he runs his hand from my throat to my belly. I’m already hard – _of course_ , I’m already hard. I have been for the whole conversation. We may have been discussing gag reflexes, but the thought of Brian swallowing around my dick . . . holy shit. Holy fucking _shit_!

“Mmmmm,” he hums appreciatively. “Your interest has clearly been piqued.”

I laugh. He loves his silly cock puns, and I do too. They’re so juvenile. He places a lingering kiss on my nipple and then slowly leaves wet kisses down to my groin. Brian hasn’t sucked my dick except for a couple of times, but it was clear he’d enjoyed himself. I’d wanted to ask him if he ever gives tricks head, but of course I didn’t. It’s not my business, and even if it was, I’m not sure I want to know the answer. Daphne’s dad is a lawyer; he was talking about cross-examining a witness once. _Never ask a question if you don’t know what the answer will be, especially when you think you might not like it_. It’s a useful tip that I use almost daily when I’m with Brian.

He slides down the bed and insinuates himself between my legs. I’m propped up on my elbows watching him. He smiles a lascivious grin, and his eyes don’t leave mine when he licks the length of my cock from the base to the tip. He’s unapologetically aroused; I watch the slow rise and fall of his ass as he rubs against the mattress. Once again, I feel thankful that I didn’t have to learn about sex with some fumbling teenager as stupid about everything as I was. Instead, I got a lover – a mentor, even. He just simply doesn’t give a shit; I can’t imagine him ever being embarrassed or unsure, even when he was my age. It’s like he’d sprung from his mother’s womb like Athena, condom and cock ring in hand, ready to pleasure the masses.

He starts slowly. I watch his lips part to accept the head of my dick; I watch him claim it. Claim me.

“You taste like French fries,” he says, and I cover my face. Asshole.

“People never wash their hands,” he says, sounding like a disappointed elementary school teacher.

“You shouldn’t mind,” I say. “The fries were particularly good tonight. That new guy knows how to do them just right – not too crispy . . .”

“But not too limp.”

“That is so lame, Brian.”

He shrugs. “If you don’t like my puns, then don’t throw me softballs. Now shut up and let me suck your dick.”

He takes me deeper this time. His mouth is open, his lips parted and his jaw loose. There’s little friction, just slippery heat and the softest touch. I want to start thrusting, but I don’t. I want to wait to see what he’s going to do. After a while, I won’t be able to stop myself, but right now, I’m still in control. Still master of my own body.

He pulls away with a loud, obscene slurp sound. “Taking notes?” he asks. “I hope so because you’re next.”

“Always,” I say breathlessly. “I have a lot of competition.”

He snorts. “You give them too much credit,” he replies. “And you give yourself too little.”

I grin. Another penny tossed in the fountain. He smiles. He knows I took his words for what they were meant to be – a compliment. _Don’t worry_ , his words said. _All those guys, they’re not all that_.

He lowers his head and takes me in his mouth again. It’s hard to believe that sardonic mouth is capable of such tenderness. I comb my fingers into his hair and feel his head move under my hands.

“Brian,” I murmur. I’ve learned I can say his name like that when we’re fucking, infuse it with longing and gratitude without him getting spooked and annoyed.

His eyes had closed. When he hears his name, he opens them and looks at my face. He has beautiful eyes. It’s said that hazel is the most common eye color for Caucasians, and “common” usually stands in for “boring.” But there’s nothing boring about Brian’s eyes. His real self – the self that emerges when he’s alone and no one’s watching him – looks out of those eyes. There’s a kind of vulnerability in them, but also resolve. From what I’ve gleaned about his past, it sounds like vulnerability and resolve, not arrogance and ruthlessness, have ruled his life, have made him who he is. I wonder if I’m the only one who’s realized this.

 _You’re so beautiful_ , I want to tell him. _So fucking ridiculously beautiful_ , but if I did, it would wreck the moment – maybe the night. Maybe even everything. So, I keep my mouth closed. I can tell it to shut the fuck up, but I can’t tell my eyes to do the same. He can see it. I’m sure he can. But only words seem to bother him. Looks and touches are all he permits. Maybe even all he thinks he deserves. 

I’ve been caught up in my thoughts, so I’m surprised by the sudden nearness of my orgasm. I place my palm on his forehead and push him away. He smiles up at me knowingly.

“Gotta keep working on that,” he says. “You shouldn’t be caught off guard like that; I never am.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“You say that with such confidence.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Is that a challenge?”

He arches an eyebrow at me. “I hadn’t meant it to be, but okay, yeah, it’s a challenge.”

“And if I succeed?”

“If you succeed, I will blow you on the dance floor at Babylon.”

Clearly, I must look shocked because he laughs at me. “Which means,” he says, “that I’m confident you won’t be able to do it. No offense, Sunshine, but I’ve been practicing holding back since I was thirteen. I haven’t been surprised by an orgasm since I’ve been old enough to drink.”

“Even when you’re on ecstasy?”

“Even when I’m on E or a cocktail or even coke.”

I swallow at the mention of coke. I’m not used to Brian’s casual references to it yet, and it upsets me. I’ve never done drugs, and I’ve always had negative opinions about the people who did. “Druggies” we called them in school. Pot was no big deal, but anything harder was beyond my realm of experience – just like sex had been. All that’d changed in a matter of weeks. But thankfully Brian has never pressured me to try anything. I’m pretty sure he’d be fine if I never did. He likes to get me drunk though, but that’s a different kettle of fish.

“Practice counting down from ten,” he says, “and don’t come until you get to number one. The slower you count, the better at lasting you’ll become.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding. “But do I have to count out loud?”

Brian laughs, but then he gets _that look_. “Do it,” he says. “I want to hear you.” He goes back to sucking my dick, but it’s not gentle anymore. He swallows me to the balls and grabs my hips, encouraging me to thrust upward, deeper down his throat. When I hold back, he pinches me. Hard. The message is clear. I throw aside all control, all restraint, all fear that it’ll be too much for him.

“Ten,” I gasp as I pound into the back of his throat. I grab a fistful of his hair and start thrusting like mad.

“Nine,” I whimper. There’s no fucking way I’m going to make it to one. He’s swallowing around me. I must be ramming his tonsils, but there are no tears squeezing from his eyes and no tension in his body. He’s still rocking his own hips, rubbing himself. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s getting off on this.

“Eight.” It’s nothing but a squeak. I’m gritting my teeth too hard to utter an actual word. He slaps my right hip as though I’m a horse and he’s urging me forward, faster and faster, toward a finish line. I grab his head with both hands and hold him still as I fuck his mouth.

“Seven.” It’s just a shallow exhale. I doubt Brian can even hear it between the tortured sounds I’m making. He shakes free of my hands and begins swallowing my dick at the same time I thrust upward.

“Six.” Jesus fucking Christ he was right. He doesn’t have a gag reflex. I’m not being arrogant when I say I have a pretty decent sized cock. It’s bigger than most I’ve seen – at least in real life. Porn stars are freaks of nature, so they don’t count. I’m not nine inches, but I’m close enough to claim convincingly that I am. He’s taking it effortlessly.

“Five.” He slaps me again, and I put all my strength and energy into fucking his throat. My stomach muscles are starting to hurt, and I know I’ll be feeling all of this exertion tomorrow.

“Four . . .”

But that’s it. It’s over. I bat his head to tell him I’m a fraction of a second away from coming, but the asshole pinches me again and then, impossibly, amazingly, swallows me deeper. 

My body bucks when my orgasm hits. If he was going to gag, it would be now. He grabs my hand and squeezes it until I think my fingers are going to break, but he doesn’t pull back and when he sucks until his cheeks hollow out, it feels like he’s wrenching every last drop of come from my body. It’s fucking _excruciating_! When I finally stop shuddering, he releases my dick with a wet pop and laughs as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You only made it to four,” he says. His voice is hoarse, and I’m thrilled to see there are tears in his eyes.

“I should’ve counted faster,” I say between pants. “Did I find your gag reflex?”

“Not even close,” he says, sniffling as though he has a cold.

“Bullshit.” I feel elated like an explorer who’s discovered a new continent.

He laughs and lies down beside me. I trace his body with my eyes until I get to his groin . . .

. . . he's not hard. Goddamnit, he’s fucking _soft_!

He must see the horror and chagrin in my expression because he cracks up. I’m sure he’s going to say something shitty, but instead, he rolls onto his back, revealing the wet spot on the mattress.

“Oh my God,” I say disbelievingly. “Oh my God, Brian! You came. You fucking came!”

He shrugs and reaches for his cigarettes. “So I came. Big deal.”

Asshole.

“Truth or dare?” I say.

He’s got a cigarette balanced between his swollen lips. He raises his eyebrows in his “What the fuck are you talking about” expression.

“Truth or dare,” I say again, “and believe me, you won’t like the dare. I’ll make you do something lesbionic.”

He smirks. “Truth, then.”

I look at him solemnly. “This is Truth Or Dare. You can’t cheat.”

“Cross my heart,” he says, making the gesture with the hand that’s not holding the lit cigarette.

“Did you get to one?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Did you get to one before you came?”

He just looks at me. It’s almost the same look he gave me when he threw me out after the loft was burglarized. For a second I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.

“No,” he says with unquestionable finality.

“How close did you get?”

He glares at me. “Closer than you did, you little twat.”

“How close?”

But he just looks at me with that flat “we’re done discussing this” gaze. I relent. After all, I don’t really care what the number is; I only care that I made Brian Kinney, the sex god of western Pennsylvania, come before he was ready to.

Take away lesson? I am fucking _awesome_.


End file.
